


Angel of Small Death

by bitscrawford



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Mythology, F/M, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitscrawford/pseuds/bitscrawford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke match on a Tinder-for-supernatural-creatures called Kinder. Shit goes down when they run into each other at a bar a week later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel of Small Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/gifts).



> I'm not the most knowledgeable when it comes to mythological creatures, so forgive me if I took a few liberties with some things - it's just for fun, y'all.
> 
> Title is from Hozier's "Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene."

“What the hell is this?”

Octavia comes out of her room to see what it is that he’s complaining about this time - she says it like he complains constantly, which is only partially true - and grins when she sees his phone in his hands. “It’s called an app, grandpa.”

Bellamy only looks up from his phone to glare at her, eyes narrowed, before turning back to his phone, opening an app called _Kinder_. “I know what an app is, Octavia.”

His baby sister’s head falls back and she laughs. “It’s like Tinder, but for people more like us. Y’know, so we can find people of our _kind_.”

His brow furrows. “And Tinder is?”

She lets her eyes flutter closed and shakes her head, breathes in deep and exhales all at once through her nose. “It’s a dating app. I already set up all your settings for you - you’re welcome - so even _you_ should be able to navigate this thing.” He makes a face at her when she snatches his phone out of his hand. She taps on the picture of the woman currently displayed on the screen. “This brings up their profile. It tells you how far away they are, shows you a few pictures, and most people write a bio. Oh, and it tells you what species they are.” She shrugs and hands him back his phone. “Swipe right if you like them, left if you don’t. If they liked you back, you’re a match and _voila_.”

He already knows he’s never gonna use this; he’s more than capable of finding women to talk to _in person_. He doesn’t need an app to find a girlfriend. 

“Do you have one of these?”

The corners of Octavia’s lips quirk upward the slightest bit. “Would you look at the time?” she muses, glancing at her naked wrist. “I’ve got an exam to study for!” So that’s a resounding yes.

She’s just slipping into her room when he calls out to her, her head peeking out around the doorframe. “Yes, big brother?”

“My phone has a password.”

“Please.” She looks at him like he’s being absolutely ridiculous. “I’ve known your passcode is my birthday since the day you bought that thing. Honestly, it’s like you _want_ me to snoop.”

\--

He mostly forgets about the little icon on his phone screen. Occasionally, when he can’t fall asleep or when there’s nothing good on TV, he’ll find himself thumbing through photos and bios, noting with interest that there are more witches and vampires on Kinder than anything else. He has yet to encounter another satyr, which is only mildly disappointing. His mother used to say there wasn’t enough room in any bar in the world for more than one satyr; maybe it’s the same thing with this (admittedly shallow) app.

He doesn’t actually talk to any of his matches. What would he even say?

Whatever. It’s just for fun. Besides, he knows Octavia scrolls through his matches when he’s in the shower sometimes to make sure he’s actually using it.

\-- 

He ends up at a bar with Miller after work, nursing a couple of beers, when he sees her. He can’t quite figure out where he’s seen her face before, but it’s definitely familiar. She’s all blonde, wavy hair and blue eyes he can spot from halfway across the bar. Her top is low-cut enough that virtually every guy - and girl, for that matter - in the dive is checking her out, Bellamy included.

Miller? Not so much. He’s more interested in attempting to charm the wood fairy behind the bar. They’ve been coming here for months and Miller just managed to get the guy’s name last week. If he wasn’t a grown-ass man, Bellamy’s pretty sure he would have seen Miller doodling “Mr. Nathan Green” all over his proverbial notebooks. 

Bellamy finishes off his beer, just getting ready to approach her and figure out where the hell it is he knows her from, when she beats him to it. She sidles up next to him and orders a rum and coke, head tilted to the side as she blatantly stares at him. 

“Can I help you?” Monty sets another beer in front of him at the same time he hands the blonde her drink.

“Kinder.”

He raises his eyebrows. “‘Scuse me?” He takes a swig from the bottle and eyes the long, pale column of her neck when she sips at her drink. 

“We matched on Kinder. Like, a week ago.”

“We did?”

She laughs a little. “I guess my profile wasn’t that memorable, huh?”

He sets the beer down, angles his body so he’s facing her. “Honestly, I barely go on that thing. My sister made it for me.”

“Ah. I see. Sorry I interrupted, then.” She raises her glass to him and starts to turn around. He reaches out to stop her, fingers brushing along the inside of her wrist. 

“Wait.” 

She freezes, her entire body going rigid. When she turns to face him, all the color has drained from her face, her eyes open wide. If he had to guess, he’d say she looks terrified, but that’s not exactly right. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before. 

She tries to swallow and he can see how hard she has to try to make it happen, the muscles in her neck unbelievably tense. If he couldn’t see her chest rising and falling, he’d probably assume that she’d stopped breathing altogether. 

“Bellamy Blake.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere deep in her chest, rough. 

A few people milling around them are staring, confused expressions on their faces. None of them half as confused as Bellamy. He wants to ask how she knows his name - she can’t possibly remember the names of every person she’s ever matched with on Kinder, especially with how many she probably has, looking like that - but is way too preoccupied by the fact that her hand has a death grip on his wrist, the tips of her fingers white with the effort of it. 

“Don’t leave this bar until closing.” 

“What?”

She grabs his other wrist, too, holds them in front of her and pleads with him. “Promise me.”

“Wh - ”

“ _Promise me._ ”

“Okay! Okay, I promise not to leave until closing. Are you gonna be okay?”

Her grip on his wrists slackens. She blinks a few times, color rushing to her cheeks, her lips parted. Her chest is heaving and it looks as if she’s just woken up - her eyes are bleary. 

Before he has the chance to ask her what’s going on, she collapses.

\--

He’s in the process of carrying her behind the bar to the supply room when she wakes up, a frown on her face and a groan falling from her lips.

When he hears it, he rushes her to the little cot behind the tequila and sets her down as gently as he can. He goes to brush a piece of hair out of her face and it falls out into his hand. He drops it, concern evident on his face. Even with a stranger, he can’t help but want to help. Octavia always did call him dad when she was younger, so. At least he’s consistent. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice just loud enough to be heard over the din of bar patrons a few feet away.

She moves to sit up and winces. He gently presses her shoulder back against the cot. “You should rest. Especially after - whatever the hell that was.”

She groans. “Sorry about that. It just sort of… happens sometimes.”

He nods. He’s never been one to pry. If someone wants to share their business with him, he’ll usually take the time to sit and listen - assuming, of course, it’s not someone he can’t stand - but he’s not about to beg for information. If someone did that to him, it’d only serve to piss him off. “That must suck.”

That startles a little laugh out of her. “One of the many downfalls of being a valkyrie.”

“A valkyrie, huh?” She nods. “Sounds intense.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

He pulls over the chair that sits near the back door and reeks of cigarette smoke. Usually he doesn’t do this, but. She kinda looks like she needs someone to ask her. Might as well be him. “Wanna talk about it?”

She makes direct eye contact. He doesn’t shy away from it.

“I can… _sense_ things. Awful things.”

He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees. “What kind of awful things?”

“I can sense when someone is about to die.”

She’s searching his face for some kind of reaction. It takes a second for him to process everything. “So,” he starts, struggling to come up with the words. “Are you saying I’m gonna die tonight?” 

His first thought is Octavia. She can’t afford the rent of their apartment alone, let alone her tuition payments. She’s already taking way too many loans for him to feel comfortable with. She’ll have no one. Sure, she’s got friends, but. It’s not the same as family. His heart stutters in his chest and his stomach turns. He needs to call his baby sister and tell her he loves her, like, _now_.

“No! No, not anymore.”

He stops dialing Octavia’s number and slowly looks up at her. Literally none of this is making any sense. “Not anymore?”

“I - I stopped it. For now, I mean.” At his alarmed expression, she continues. “Everyone dies eventually. It takes a lot out of me, but I can sometimes delay it.”

“For how long?”

“I never know. Sometimes it’s years. Others, months.” She looks so sad, it makes his chest hurt. “I’m sorry.” Tears are starting to well in her eyes. 

If there’s one thing Bellamy Blake hates in this world, it’s seeing a girl cry. Octavia used it against him more times than he could count growing up, but he’s never been able to stomach them. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching forward to wipe the tears off her cheeks. The last time he touched her, she predicted his death. He hesitates a little, but thinks _fuck it_ \- she already dropped that bomb on him. What’s the worst that could happen? He brushes the pad of his thumb gently along her cheekbones, doesn’t miss the way her eyes dart down to his mouth. “Don’t cry.”

“I became a doctor to help people,” she tells him. “And instead, all I do is sense when they’re about to die. Sometimes I can take their souls to the afterlife, but that’s… it’s not enough.”

He has no idea what to say. If the way she’s staring off into space and chewing on her bottom lip is any indication, she probably doesn’t mind too much.

He decides to break whatever train of thought she’s on; it’s probably doing more harm than good at this point. “You know what’s not fair?” She looks at him, a tiny crinkle between her eyebrows forming. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

That manages to put the smallest of smiles on her face. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Well, Clarke Griffin, I have one last question for you.”

She finally sits up and turns to face him, her knees settled between his and her feet planted firmly on the floor. “Anything.”

“Why’d you stop it?”

She looks confused. “What?”

“You said that it takes a lot out of you. A piece of your hair fell out into my hand when I was carrying you in here. So why would you go through all of that for a stranger you matched with on a stupid app?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d let you die knowing I had the chance to stop it.” He nods. It’s a good answer. Probably the same one he would’ve given if he’d been in her position; thank God he’ll never know for sure. “Can I ask you one now?”

“‘Course.”

“What are you?”

He laughs a little bit, tongue swiping along his bottom lip before he answers. “Can you be a little more specific? I mean, a guy can be a lot of different things.”

She laughs, too. “I _mean_ that you’re on Kinder, so you’re obviously not a normal human. You know I’m a valkyrie; it’s only fair, right?”

“I’m a satyr.”

“Are you, like, half goat, then?”

That drags a hearty laugh out of him. “No, thank God. I don’t really have any fancy powers, either. We’re just kinda… good at surviving. My little sister has a thing for nature and it’s hard to find something either of us is afraid of.” A smirk finds its way to his lips. “And maybe we have a fondness for anything that feels good.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Hey, we can’t help it,” he defends, hands raised in mock surrender. “We’re creatures of Dionysus; what do you expect?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs, shaking her head. A pause, and then: “So, I maybe lied a little bit earlier.”

“About what?”

“There’s another reason I delayed your death.”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes that lets him know she’s teasing, but he finds that he likes it. “Lay it on me, Griffin.”

She leans forward, looking up at him through her lashes. From this close, he can see a sliver of shiny silver around her pupil. Must be the valkyrie in her.

“If you died, I wouldn’t have been able to ask you out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> This is the first thing I've written in months, so be good to me, please. 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life/inspire me to write more.
> 
> Finally, come find me on tumblr @ daisyridlys!


End file.
